Longings
by HRFan
Summary: SPOILERS FOR 9.3 and 9.4...More angst and more romance...


8

**Late on a Monday **

He places the phone back in its craddle, his mouth dry, slightly out of breath, irritated with her for phoning so late on such a spurious pretext, irritated with himself for feeling pleased that she did.

He rubs his hand over his face tiredly and glances at the clock. 10:30pm, and once again, he is alone on the Grid, working his way through files, postponing the moment when he will have to go back to his dark and empty house. He leans back in his armchair. He could stay in the building over night: there're a couple of bedrooms for senior officers of his rank, en-suite, all amenities, and he could book himself into one, pretending that he needs to stay til past midnight and be back at his desk at 5 am…pretending that nothing is more important to him, right now, than being a custodian of the nation…

He wonders idly what Ruth is doing. Whether she too feels awkward around him. Whether she regrets turning him down, though he knows, deep down, that she was right. Whether she would like more. He wonders they really will manage to carry on. _You either say nothing or you say everything_, he muses darkly. _But this in between thing…_He shakes his head and gathers up his files, wearily. He will go home tonight. He will at least try to have, if not a life, at least a place away from this place.

He will try.

**A week later.**

'We did what we were asked to do, Ruth', he cuts in abruptly. 'There's nothing more to be said.' He pauses and then adds, ruthlessly, coldly, knowing that he will regret the words as soon as he utters them: 'whatever there might have been between us, I am still your boss. My decisions are not for you to question. Do remember that.' He walks away without looking at her, and thus does not see the stricken look on her face, the sadness in her eyes.

**A week after that**

When Tariq told him that there had been a bomb scare in the headquarters of the firm where Ruth was planted – at Lucas' insistence, and despite his own serious misgivings – he actually felt his heart stop for a terrifying second. She phoned a few minutes later to confirm that she had managed to leave the building, and to get instructions. _Get back here right away_, he barked, oblivious to his officers' curious glances. She hung up without a word.

And now that she is back, and debriefed, not having met his eyes properly once, he wants to go over to her desk and apologise for his outburst, to explain the vice-like panic which gripped his entire being and did not let go until she was safe here, under his gaze. And yet, what would be the point? _It's best if you don't go out in the field again during this op_, he said instead, brisk and businesslike. _ Your face is known now…safer here._ She's not even attempted to object and demur, and has gone about her job uncomplainingly.

Except that now, as he looks up and automatically checks her workstation, she's not there. It's6 pm, and she is always there until at least 7. And no matter how difficult things are between them she always says goodbye before leaving. As they all do. He frowns and goes in search of her. The Grid, the staff coffee room, the rooftop even…no sign of her. Her coat and bag have gone too. On an impulse he does something which he has never done once in all his years in the Service. He leaves work. Just like that. The Grid is curiously empty, on this Friday night. They all left early – Lucas to some mysterious meeting 'with a contact', Beth, Dimitri and Tariq to God knows where…They are so young, his officers, so brimming and bursting with enthusiasm that he feels old and weary, a reluctant father with an over-lively brood.

Although it is only 6pm, he sent his driver home a while ago to go and tend to his pregnant wife. Another solitary evening at home, taking stock of the events of the day. Another night interrupted by dreams of faceless strangers and gathering threats, and marked by the long struggle with unfulfilled wants….And no, he did not leave so soon after she did in the hope of catching up with her; he is not driving towards her bus stop thinking that she might be stuck in the rain, a detour which will lengthen his trip home by at least half an hour. He is driving through his favourite part of London, that's all.

He gets a glimpse of her, hunched forward to protect herself from the relentless rain, folded on herself as she hurries towards the bus stop. She doesn't have an umbrella. The car in front of him rolls through a pond like puddle of water by the kerb, inundating her. She's cross. He is so close that he can read the words on her lips. He's amused at how colourful those words are.

He pulls alongside her and opens the kerb side window. 'Ruth! Get in!', he shouts.

She turns round, her hair limp and heavy with water, her face a picture of exasperation and fatigue, her eyes rimmed with red. She doesn't even smile when she sees him. 'Harry, what are you… I can't, I'm soaked…your car seat…I'll take the bus.'

Before he even knows it, he is out of his car and standing in front of her. 'Don't be ridiculous', he says through clenched teeth. 'I can drive you home in 15mns. I won't stay. But in this weather…it'll be ages before you get the bus. Come on.' She still won't move, her eyes, usually wonderfully blue, now cloudy with indecision and – but perhaps he is not seeing properly because of the rain, rimmed with red. 'Oh for heavens's sake', he mutters, opening the passenger door.

The fight goes out of her, visibly. 'Thanks', she says stifly as she slides gratefully into the warmth of the car. He pulls away smoothly, turns up the heating to the maximum and puts on some soft classical music. He doesn't really want to talk to her. He knows she doesn't really want to talk to him. She is shivering violently, and he can almost feel her distress. He picks up speed, concerned now to get her home as soon as is safe. 'Almost there', he says gruffly.

She can't even answer, as her teeth are shattering with the cold. He stops in front of her front door. He's never been there, but he knows exactly where she lives. 'Is Beth in tonight?', he asks. She looks at him sharply. 'No. Coming back tomorrow. Thanks, Harry. I'll…see myself in.'

He does not seem to hear her and walks her to her front door. Her hands are shaking so much that she can't even open the door. Without a word, he takes the keys from her, and leads her in, helping her get rid of her coat. 'You should go and run yourself a very hot bath', he says in a matter of fact way. 'I'll check the central heating and put the kettle on before I leave.'

She nods numbly and ascends the stairs to the bathroom. 'Will you be alright?', he calls out from the kitchen. She mumbles a yes, loud enough that he will hear it, not so loud that he will discern the tell-tale tremor of tears underneath it.

When she emerges from the bathroom, feeling semi-human at last, able she thinks to process what happened tonight, she finds him in her living room, his back to her, staring through the windows. She starts. She is wrapped in her bathrobe, feet bare, hair loose, and feels exposed and vulnerable to him in his formal suit and coat. 'Harry, what are you…you didn't have to…'

He shrugs, unsmilingly, without really looking at her. 'I didn't want to go without making sure you're OK. I'll leave you alone now.'

She's tired, and fragile, and the coldness of his words and voice, so at odds with the kindness he has shown her tonight through his actions, wounds her more than she would have thought possible. 'Would you…would you like something to drink, or to eat?', she finds it in herself to ask, partly out of politeness, partly in a last ditch attempt to break through the walls.

He shakes his head, desperate to leave and not to have to look at her, wearing this soft white robe and probably not much underneath. 'No, thanks. It's late. I'd better go', he says abruptly. He walks to the door.

'Harry!' She can't help it. 'Please. Can we at least talk and…?'

He pauses at the main door, very still. 'We said all that there was to be said, don't you think?', he says, immediately regretting the harshness of his words and the sharpness of his tone. 'Goodnight, Ruth', he says forcing himself to ignore her outstretched hand.

Within seconds he is out back into the rain, and she is left standing there, chilled to the core despite the warmth of the house.

She makes her way to her kitchen almost blindly. He's boiled the water, as he said, and put together a mug and a teabag, and a hefty quantity of sugar. Exactly as she likes it. And the tears come at last, for him, for her, for what might have been. She doesn't know how long she stands there, but suddenly, it occurs to her that she has not heard the sound of his car. She frowns. Surely….she goes into the living room and peers through the window. The car is still there. Her heart starts beating loudly in her chest. She almost runs back to the main door and opens it, almost roughly.

He's standing there, finger poised as if to ring her doorbell, soaked with rain water. 'What did you want to talk about?' he asks without preamble.

'Harry…won't you at least come in?'

'What did you want to talk about?', he repeats stubbornly without moving an inch.

She wraps her bathrobe more tightly around herself. 'Us. What we're doing to each other….'

'I thought you said there couldn't be a 'us', he points out.

'That's not what I said', she objects mildly. 'I said that there couldn't be a 'normal us'. But that doesn't mean we can't be close or…'

'Yes. You said. I remember. Well, I'm sorry, but that can't be.' He falls silent not really knowing where to take this.

'Is that why you came back?' she asks angrily. 'Or rather, why you never bloody left? To tell me that even through work, we can't have that kind of closeness? Don't you think you've already made that perfectly clear those last few weeks?' She bites her lips, holding on, just, to her self-control. 'I didn't ask you to drive me home tonight, or to stay and check I was alright. Thanks for doing it, but you know what, you can just go home, or better still, go back to the Grid, where you'll be the last to leave your desk, as per bloody usual, and where you can wallow in self-pity and….oh what's the point…' She is breathing heavily, frustrated beyond description by his behaviour and her inability to tell him how she really feels. She looks at him, and he is looking back at her, stunned by her outburst, something dissolving in his eyes and around his mouth which she can't be bothered to analyse. 'You know', she says tiredly, shivering in the damp, past caring about the fact that he's still made no move to come in, 'I'm sorry…I'm sorry I turned down your marriage proposal. I'm sorry I love you too much for living a lie with you.' She blinks her tears back. 'I'm sorry I can't give you what you want. I'm sorry that half of the time I don't even know…'

'You could, with George', he cuts in, in a low, strained voice, oblivious to the chill penetrating his clothes.

'Is it what this is about? That I had a normal life with him, but with you…but you must know that we can't have that, Harry', she pleads, 'surely…'

'I don't mean the house in wherever and the domestic stuff and having the neighbours round…' He looks away. 'I mean the intimacy. You were willing to have it with him. And not with me. Which is fine. I mean, it's not as if I have any claim on you and your…desire. But don't you see…' He forces himself to look at her in the eyes. 'Don't you see why being together only through work is impossible for me?'

'But you never said', she whispers. 'You never said you felt that way…'

He stares at her incredulously. 'What do you think I was proposing, Ruth? That we get married and sleep at opposite ends of the house?'

'I don't know what you were proposing! We'd just been to a funeral, for God's sake! And it's not as if we'd been at it like rabbits anyway! Besides….You were emotional, and the whole thing felt so…practical, pragmatic somehow…Look, please come in. We can't have that conversation in the rain and…'

Without quite realising it, he's stepped inside, and she's shut the door behind him, and she is so close that even through the damp rising from his coat he can feel her warmth. 'I was standing next to you', he murmurs, 'my hand on your back. I could smell your hair. I kept hoping you would turn around and face me…I'd have seen your eyes. I'd have felt your breath on my lips…God forgive me, Ruth, because we'd just said goodbye to Ros, but in that moment… I wanted you.' He swallowed. 'I wanted to hold you. Fully. And I wanted to feel…all of you. I still do. Such yearning…And that's why…' He starts shaking uncontrollably, at last feeling the cold.

'You need to take your clothes off', she chokes, tears falling freely at last through her smile. 'You're going to catch your death.'

'I can't stay here tonight, even if it's just to talk, unless there is hope for us', he says hoarsely. 'If there isn't, I'll go now and won't ever talk about it again. I'd even leave the Service if that made it easier. But you must tell me, Ruth, because….' He rammed his hands in his pockets, to prevent himself from touching her. 'I can't carry on like this.'

She rises up to him and craddles his face in her hands. 'There's hope', she whispers shakily, brushing his lips against his. 'If only you knew…but you need to get dry and warm. Come on.' She leads him by the hand upstairs. 'Take your time. The dryer's here. When you're ready…I'll be downstairs.'

He walks back downstairs 15 mns later, in his trousers and shirt, barefeet, full of hope and fear. She's in the living room, changed in loose fitting clothes, lighting up a fire. He kneels next to her and slowly and methodically helps her build the fire, passing on matches and wood, admiring the long burning flames, letting the heat warm him up.

They stand up at the same time, and he turns to her as she turns to him, her skin glowing in the light. 'Ruth….' He whispers, drawing her into his arms. Their kiss is long, thorough, deep, the harbinger of better things to come between them. His desire gathers strength and he knows that she can't but feel it, just he feels hers. When they pull apart, breathless, they can only stare at each other, stunned by the intensity of what they have just shared. 'I had no idea', she whispers, 'no idea at all that it could be so…' She shakes her head.

He strokes her cheek with his thumb. 'I work ridiculously long hours, and I can see why it'd be easy to think that I'm just about the Service. But, Ruth….please don't make that mistake. There's so much more to me than that. So much more', he says with quiet intensity.

'I can see that', she replies softly, sliding her hands under his shirt, enjoying his sharp intake of breath and the way her body instinctively responds to his, unable to believe that this complex and brilliant man she has loved for years could feel as strongly for her as she does for him.

He gets hold of her hands. 'I want to make love to you', he says raggedly. 'Believe me…but not tonight.'

'But why? Harry, we've finally managed to overcome whatever it was that….'

'I overcame it a long time ago, Ruth. _You_ didn't. And…' He rests his forehead against hers, brushing her breasts with his hands to let her know how much he wants her. 'I want you to be sure, absolutely sure, that you won't regret this. This morning we were hardly talking to each other. And now…'

She nestles in his arms. 'You're right. Also…what you said the other day. That you're still my boss and that…'

'I shouldn't have said that. I was angry and frustrated and took it out on you. It won't happen again.' He seals his promise with a soft kiss. 'I know you're worried about the others. What they will say, speculations…we can deal with this…can't we?' For a second his voice quivers, full of uncertainty, and she reaches out to him. 'We can' she whispers against his mouth. 'There's one more thing I need to say'.

He can't help it, but he's worried. 'What?', he asks cautiously, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Her smile is radiant. 'I love you.'

He sighs as a man who has at last found the home he has been looking for without always knowing it. His eyes fill with tears and this time his voice is cracking. 'I love you too.'

**The end.**


End file.
